Free the Flesh from the Stone
by PRAUS
Summary: A/U:Ludwig is a sculptor at the height of his career. Renowned for his ability to carve strikingly lifelike pieces from blocks of marble, his work fills the grandest homes in Europe. There is no form he can't capture, no challenge he can't meet - until a stranger's commission forces him to face the ultimate choice. Can he free the flesh from the stone? Or be consumed by it?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N**__ This fic was inspired by a day spent at a museum. It's my first attempt at __**Germancest!**__ Woohoo!_

_Just a few notes: Roderich and Ludwig are cousins. Roderich raised Ludwig when Ludwig was orphaned at 10. There is a 14 year age gap between them. And I made Francis half German and half French. He's from Alsace. The cover image is a detail from Bernini's "The Rape of Proserpina." Thanks for reading. Reviews are always welcomed. Enjoy!_

.

.

.

**September, 1913**

It was the smell of coffee that awoke him. Its pungent fumes drifted up the stairs, snaking lazily around his door to tingle his nose. Ludwig sniffed, groaned, rolled over and pressed his pillow to his face.

If he was smelling coffee before he was even awake, it could only mean one thing: Cousin Roderich had come to call.

Roderich.

What he could possibly want now, Ludwig wondered – though he had the slightest inkling – and that did not put him in a mood to entertain his much older cousin.

The clock in the hall chimed half-past-something. Ludwig flung the pillow away from his face. It landed with a muffled _thump_ somewhere on the floor. Best not to keep guests waiting, even if they _were_ meddling cousins.

A heavy arm swung down, feeling along the floor for his work clothes from the day before. Once located, Ludwig sat up and pulled them on, frowning slightly as he did so. His shirt and pants felt gritty and somewhat cold and damp. There was a lingering smell of stale sweat mingled with beer. From last night, no doubt. Well. No matter. He'd have Frau Kost wash them that evening.

Ludwig then stumbled to the washroom to splash some water on his face, running wet fingers through his hair to slick it back off his forehead, before heading downstairs.

He found Roderich seated at the dining room table, reading the newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee. A small buffet of breakfast foods had been arranged on a sideboard, complete with a samovar filled with his cousin's preferred beverage. The samovar had been a gift from Roderich – a souvenir from one of his countless trips abroad, though Ludwig couldn't remember which one.

"I see you've helped yourself," Ludwig said, filling a cup of coffee from the samovar's spout.

"Don't be ridiculous," Roderich said, lowering a corner of his newspaper. "Your housekeeper was kind enough to attend."

Ludwig snorted into his cup. Roderich never did understand the subtleties of irony.

"I see you've finally managed to pull yourself out of bed," Roderich sniffed, hitching his paper back up. "Most men would consider this a day wasted, if they had to keep your kind of schedule."

"Guess I'm lucky," Ludwig said, sitting opposite his cousin. "I don't have to keep time with the rest of the world."

Roderich lowered his paper again, frowning slightly. "Is that _all_ you're having?" he asked, seeing only the coffee cup held in his cousin's hand.

Ludwig shrugged. "Not hungry."

Roderich gave Ludwig a withering look. Ludwig smirked and raised an eyebrow, daring his cousin to say something.

Roderich merely shook his head and returned to his paper.

When he was done reading, Roderich folded the paper and put it aside. He took a pastry from the dish in front of him and spread some marmalade on it.

"Vash and his sister Lili are coming over for dinner this evening," Roderich said conversationally, setting his knife down. "You're more than welcome to join us. I know Vash can be insufferable at times, but his sister is really a lovely girl."

"Playing match-maker?" Ludwig said, taking a sip of coffee.

"No. Just making an observation," Roderich said airily.

Ludwig made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. He knew Roderich was not through, and what his cousin said next only confirmed it.

"But really, Ludwig, you need to start thinking about these things. You're established in your career – and doing quite well, I might add," Roderich said, glancing around Ludwig's dining room. "Marriage is the next sensible step."

"Roderich," Ludwig said, fixing his cousin with a hard stare, "Lili is _fifteen_. She's a decade younger than me."

"It's not uncommon," Roderich sniffed, taking a bite of his pastry.

"It's disgusting," Ludwig grimaced.

Roderich shrugged a shoulder, not meeting Ludwig's eye as he wiped his lips with the corner of a napkin. "I only mentioned it. I know you artistic types have…different…tastes…."

Ludwig let out a derisive bark of laughter. "You're not helping your case."

"People will start to gossip, you know. An eligible bachelor like you…."

"Yeah. And I'm sure they'd have a lot more to blather about if I married some teenaged girl. What do I care what people think, if I'm not interested in marriage yet?"

"I'm only looking out for you, Ludwig. You're family – "

"Yeah. Okay. Sure, Roderich. Is this – is this the only reason you've come? To try and marry me off? I didn't realize I had become such a burden."

Roderich casually sipped his coffee, trying to pretend Ludwig's words hadn't riled him. "I was just making conversation."

Ludwig snorted. "You never just talk for the sake of talking. I spent enough years in your house to know that. Now out with it. Why are you here?"

Roderich set his cup down with a huff and a _clink_ of porcelain. "Have you read the papers?"

"Oh not this again," Ludwig said, crossing his arms and tilting his chair back. "If you've just come here to talk politics, you should have saved yourself the trip."

"It's not only politics I wish to discuss, young man."

"Then what?" Ludwig said, bristling at the appellation and letting his chair fall back down with a resounding _thud_.

Roderich studied Ludwig a moment. He seemed to be steeling himself for what he was about to say.

"I wish you would consider my offer," he said at length.

"I should have known," Ludwig muttered.

Roderich's hand clenched into a fist. It took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to lash out at his cousin's impertinence. Sometimes he still forgot Ludwig was no longer the orphan boy he raised….

"War is coming," Roderich said in a quiet, controlled voice.

"That's what you said last time."

"The threat is growing, Ludwig. Everything that's happening in the Balkans…our own country, building up its armaments….Mark my words, young men are going to start enlisting…and when that's not enough, they'll start conscription…and if you object, you'll be thrown in prison!"

Ludwig stared back, unmoved, at his cousin. He had heard this all before – Roderich's political rants – just before he started his apprenticeship, when England and Germany were engaged in a naval arms race. Roderich was so sure, then, war was imminent. But nothing happened. Ludwig sometimes wondered if Roderich's years spent travelling as an attaché and hearing all sorts of political rumors hadn't made his cousin somewhat paranoid.

"Roderich, I'm busy," Ludwig said, standing. He left, heading for his studio, not wanting to hear anymore.

Ludwig stopped by the back door leading to his courtyard and the studio beyond. He took an apron off a coat hook and slipped it over his head.

"It's only for two years," Roderich pressed, following Ludwig out of the dining room. "I'm sure your patrons can wait."

"It's still Africa," Ludwig said. "It's still going to be hot and disease-ridden. No thank you."

"Ludwig – "

"No! I've already told you, Roderich. I'm not going. You'll have plenty of work to keep you occupied in the colonies, I'm sure. But what am _I_ supposed to do there? I'm a sculptor. I have work – _here_ – in Germany. Besides, I don't fancy having to learn Swahili."

"Oshiwambo," Roderich corrected.

"Whatever."

Ludwig wrenched open the door. He made to close it in his cousin's face, but Roderich was right on his heels.

"They speak German. And English. And you could always carve the tribesmen marble deities or something."

Ludwig hunched his shoulders, ignoring that last comment. It was an indirect insult, he knew. Despite Ludwig's success, Roderich never thought highly of his cousin's chosen field.

Ludwig quickened his pace through the courtyard, passing marble statues and box gardens in a blur. His studio stood at the far end. All glass and steel, it had been a greenhouse for the home's former occupant. Ludwig had it converted when he bought the home two years ago. The greenhouse, coupled with the courtyard, were large enough to be used as a gallery space whenever Ludwig arranged private or public viewings of his work.

"Ludwig," Roderich tried again once they had reached the glass enclosure.

But Ludwig ignored him, picking up a mallet and chisel, taking out his irritation with Roderich on a block of stone.

"What if you're wrong," Ludwig said at length. "What if I go away with you and when we return, this – this war of yours – has started? What then? Am I to run away with you to your next assignment? Well, I'm sorry. I've visited more foreign countries than I care to count. That life is not for me, Roderich. It never was."

"I was charged with your care, Ludwig – "

"And I'm not a child anymore! _This_ is _my _home! And I'm not leaving it. I'm not running away with you. Now if you'll excuse me, cousin, I have work to do."

"…So be it," Roderich said, watching Ludwig chip away bits of white stone. He turned to go and then paused. "The invitation for dinner is still open. You will come, won't you?"

"…Maybe," Ludwig shrugged. "I don't know. Might go to the local with Francis."

"Francis!" Roderich balked. "I wish you would keep better company than that lecherous, money-grabbing Alsatian half-breed."

"You only don't like him because he made a pass at your wife that one time. And he was joking, by the way."

"Well, I don't care for his kind of humor," Roderich snipped. "You need to surround yourself with a better caliber of friends, Ludwig."

Ludwig only shook his head in exasperation.

"What does he even _do_, anyway?" Roderich continued. "He spends all his money at bars and beer halls. And when he's all out, he comes running to you to spend _yours!_ And don't tell me he doesn't. You're always sticking up for that buffoon, though I've no idea why. He's not befitting, for someone like you."

Roderich paused in his ranting to take a breath. "…Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Yeah," Ludwig deadpanned. "Good-bye, Roderich."

Roderich's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, unsure if he had just been insulted. After a few silent, awkward moments, he decided to see himself out, leaving Ludwig to his work.

Ludwig let out a huff, raking a hand through his hair. Having been raised by Roderich since the age of ten, Ludwig was well used to his cousin's gripes. Still, listening to Roderich complain was like watching someone beat a dead horse – he never knew when to quit…not until he got what he wanted.

.

.

.

Ludwig had been working as a sculptor since he was fourteen, taking a part-time apprenticeship during the summer months. When he turned eighteen it became full-time, much to Roderich's chagrin. Ludwig knew his cousin wanted him to finish school and go on to university to study politics or business or some other theoretical rubbish. But those things held no interest for Ludwig. Besides, his father had worked as a stonemason – until the fall that killed him – and Ludwig always felt it was his duty to carry on his father's trade. But Roderich, determined to turn his cousin into something meritorious, honed Ludwig's fascination with stonework into a love of sculpture – something, at least with some culture. Roderich requested postings in Greece, Italy, wherever there was learning and art. But when they returned to Germany and Ludwig announced his desire to become a sculptor, Roderich was mortified. He had not meant for Ludwig to want to pursue his fanciful idea, only meant for him to gain some sophistication and taste. Roderich's wife, Elizaveta, supported Ludwig, staying with him in Germany while he worked his apprenticeship and Roderich departed for his next assignment. By the time Ludwig was twenty, he was a journeyman in his trade. Two years later, he would be a master. The submission of his masterpiece – a Valkyrie on horseback – to the sculptor's guild ensured it…and earned him the reputation for creating works of art so true to human form, they seemed to breathe. He was soon flooded with purchases from wealthy art collectors as well as requests for commissions. He became accustomed to receiving visitors at his home – whether to discuss a possible commission or to simply entertain them while they browsed his gallery.

So it should have come as no surprise, really, when the stranger showed up early that evening. Still, there was something about this man that was unlike any of Ludwig's other patrons.

The light streaming through the studio windows had taken on that filtered quality of late afternoon. And soon the sky would be shot with orange and pink as the sun set, casting harsh lines and shadows as Ludwig tried to work. He decided to stop for the day.

Ludwig was just putting away his chisels, rasp, and mallet, when his saw his housekeeper, Frau Kost, leading the man through the courtyard. The man was old – had to be at least seventy – but walked with the lively gait of someone much younger. It was odd, watching him walk. His strides were long, purposeful – like he could easily squash the short, waddling Frau Kost with one foot, but followed dutifully behind like a shadow. A walking stick swung from his hand and his balding head was crowned with a ring of snow-white hair. His mouth twisted in a sort of amused, knowing smirk.

"Herr – Herr Beilschmidt," Frau Kost wheezed, leaning against the studio door. "This is – uh – Herr…I'm sorry, I never got your name."

"My name is unimportant," the man smiled, extending a hand.

Ludwig arched an eyebrow, wiping his own dusty hands unceremoniously on his apron before taking the stranger's. Up close, Ludwig could see the man's coat was old – at least a couple of decades old – and military, with a number of tarnished medals pinned to it.

"Did Roderich send you?" Ludwig asked, eyeing the medals. It would be like his cousin to use his contacts to persuade Ludwig to do something. In this case, that something was joining Roderich in going to Africa, Ludwig guessed, based on the fact this man was obviously military and Roderich had been bleating about a war for some time now.

But the man's brow only furrowed at the name. "Roderich? I'm sorry, but I don't know anyone by that name."

"Oh. Good." Ludwig felt himself smile. "Well, then, how may I help you?"

"I'm here about a commission."

"Ah," Ludwig said, eyes widening. "I see." He set about, searching his studio for pencil and paper, dismissing the waiting Frau Kost as he did so. "…What – um – what…did you have in mind?"

"Well," the man said, his brow dipping in uncertainty as he watched Ludwig tear apart his studio. "I wanted a commemorative piece done."

"Okay," Ludwig said, raking back his hair in agitation as he continued his search.

"…Here, Herr Beilschmidt," the man said, producing a small notebook and pencil from his coat pocket.

Ludwig took the offered notebook and pencil, smiling apologetically as he did so.

"So. As I said. I was thinking of a commemorative piece. A _memento mori_, if you will."

"Okay," Ludwig said, taking notes. "Um…what – what exactly…did you have anything in particular in mind?"

"I'm a veteran," the man said, "of the Franco-Prussian War. I want something memorializing, not the war, but the price paid – the lives lost for Germany's unification. But I don't want it specifically anchored to that time period. The message is universal, timeless…."

"Okay," Ludwig said again as the idea began to take shape in his mind.

The man went on to describe in detail precisely what he wanted: a life-sized Neoclassical young man in a tunic, seated on the ground, wounded in the side, with the sword at his feet.

Ludwig's mouth fell open slightly. It was the exact image that had formed in his head.

"…And as I understand it, Herr Beilschmidt, you have quite an extraordinary gift," the man said. "I've been told your carvings are so true to form, it's like you're freeing the flesh trapped within the stone. A modern day Michelangelo." The man winked.

Ludwig felt the color rise to his neck. "Yes…well…that's what – what people say," he said, trying to appear nonchalant.

"Come, now, Herr Beilschmidt. No need for modesty. That's why I came to you. For your prodigious talent." The man's knowing smirk widened into a leering grin. "I want my sculpture to be the most realistic thing you've ever created. I want to see the pulse pounding in his veins – I want to hear the air as it leaves his lungs…."

A mad glint sparkled in the man's eyes. A "living" statue of a young man dying….A _memento mori_….Not like he hadn't done them before, but….Something about this man, about the way he spoke so morbidly, made Ludwig shudder. He felt dirty, tainted. As if he was desecrating something sacred – and he hadn't even begun working on it yet….

The sun had dipped well below the tree line by now, throwing much of Ludwig's studio into darkness. He could barely make out the paper as he scribbled his notations on it. He wished he had asked Frau Kost to bring down some lanterns. He suddenly did not fancy being alone in the darkening studio with this nameless man.

When it looked as if the man had nothing more to say, Ludwig cleared his throat and asked: "When – when would you like this?"

"It doesn't matter," the man said, waving a hand. "Take as much time as you need – years, if you must. I only want it to be as realistic as possible."

"All right," Ludwig said. "May I have your name and address, so I can contact you if I need to?"

The man laughed. "My name is not important. And you won't need to contact me. I will come by to check on your progress."

The man swung up his walking stick and turned on his heel to leave.

"Oh! And Herr Beilschmidt," he said, pausing at the door. "Don't worry about cost." He extracted a money pouch from a coat pocket and pressed it into Ludwig's hand. "Consider that my retainer."

The bag was so heavy Ludwig nearly dropped it.

"Wait," Ludwig called as the man sauntered to the door. "Let me at least have your name. Please."

"Herr Beilschmidt, you don't need my name," the man said over his shoulder. "I am your Benefactor."

And with that, the man strolled out of the studio, leaving Ludwig staring confoundedly after him, the moneybag nothing more than deadweight in his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Francis was a true half-breed from Alsace. Half French and half German, he left the region when he was nineteen, looking for what he called "greener pastures" – although anyone who knew him knew that meant a boyfriend who also doubled as a meal ticket.

He had managed to travel quite extensively throughout Europe, flirting his way from city to city. Until he was left high and dry by his last lover in Berlin. Desperate for money, desperate to get out of the city, Francis turned to the only thing he knew how to do: charming men for their money. That was how he found Ludwig. But Francis' plan to use Ludwig as a source of income backfired. His wiles didn't work on the young sculptor. Francis simply wasn't Ludwig's type. When Roderich said he knew artistic types like Ludwig had "different" tastes, he was right – though he couldn't know of his cousin's preference for men. And Ludwig was smart enough not to divulge it. Roderich most definitely would not approve.

Despite his efforts to elicit something more, he and Ludwig became close friends. Francis stayed in Berlin. Every few months he threatened to leave but never did. Somehow he found money. Ludwig never asked where it came from when Francis had it and Francis never said. Ludwig supposed some people lived their lives better through chance. He knew he couldn't. And he knew that was why he could never have Francis as a lover.

Ludwig was still standing in his studio, stupidly holding the pouch of money given to him by the nameless Benefactor when Francis arrived.

"Ludwig, I'm starving!" Francis called through the courtyard by way of announcing himself. He never let Frau Kost show him in or out, preferring instead to come and go as he pleased. "I haven't had a nibble all day. Are we staying in and having a perfect bore of an evening or shall we – oh!" Francis exclaimed, swinging around the studio's door and spotting the hefty bag clutched in Ludwig's hand.

"That answers my question," he grinned. "New commission? Looks like you're taking us out!"

"I – what?" Ludwig stuttered dumbly.

Francis nodded at Ludwig's hand, and Ludwig gave a start, as if surprised at what he held.

"O-oh, right! Let's, um, go back to the house. It's getting dark and I need to change," Ludwig said, looking distractedly around his studio. He didn't like the way the statues were forming shadows behind him….

"Are you okay, Ludwig?" Francis said, wrinkling his brow.

"Fine!" Ludwig nodded fervently. "I'm fine!"

"…Okay," Francis said, giving his friend a long look. "So…what are we doing tonight?"

"Um, well…" Ludwig began, coming out of his strange mood, "Roderich's having some friends over. He – he asked me to join them for dinner…."

Francis yawned widely and theatrically. "Boring. Although…." He added thoughtfully. "It might be kind of fun. In a way. It's been too long since I've messed with your cousin – "

"Don't," Ludwig said sternly, heading for the house. "I've already had an earful from him today with regards to you…and I don't wish to listen to any more."

"Oh, come on, Ludwig," Francis simpered, pulling Ludwig's arm playfully. "Please. For me?"

Ludwig let out a short, wry laugh and shook his head.

"You're no fun," Francis pouted. "You're in a funny mood, anyhow. Maybe I'll just go out by myself."

"Maybe you should," Ludwig said, rounding on him. "Go find someone else to annoy."

Ludwig turned on his heel and stormed back towards the house.

"That hurt, Ludwig," Francis said quietly.

Ludwig's shoulders dropped. "…I'm sorry," he sighed. "You're right…I'm – I'm in a funny mood."

"How come?" Francis asked, approaching him. "Was it just Roderich?"

"…Yeah, I guess," Ludwig shrugged. "Partly him and…and this – strange – man who stopped by, wanting a sculpture. I don't know. I don't want to talk about it right now," Ludwig added hurriedly.

"All the more reason to go to Roderich's!" Francis said brightly. "Come on, it'll be fun! It'll take your mind off things."

"You just said it would be boring," Ludwig said, smiling in spite of himself.

"Not if _you_ don't make it boring. Let me mess with him. Please? He's such an easy mark."

Ludwig sighed again, relenting. "All right. Let me get changed first."

"That's the spirit!" Francis said, clapping him on the back. "Let's go ruin Roderich's dinner party."

.

.

.

"I didn't know you'd be bringing a guest," Roderich said coldly as the butler showed Ludwig and Francis into the dining room.

The guests were already seated but dinner had not yet started. The servants scurried around, shifting chairs and adding a place setting to accommodate the unexpected visitor – though they needn't have bothered; the table was large enough to seat twelve comfortably.

"We can – can eat in the parlor if it's too much trouble," Ludwig said by way of apology, watching the harried scene.

"Oh I don't take up _that_ much room," Francis teased. "And don't worry, I won't devour all your food, Roddy. I don't eat much. Keeps me thin." He aimed a playful wink at Roderich.

Roderich pressed his lips into a thin line. "It's no trouble," he said in a tight voice, addressing Ludwig only.

Ludwig took a seat beside Roderich's wife, Elizaveta. Francis sat on Ludwig's other side.

The first course was a dull affair. No one spoke much. Ludwig sensed Francis growing restless beside him, waiting for his chance to make a mockery of this whole dismal upper class dinner. But by the second course, once everyone had warmed into their drinks, the talk began to flow.

Vash had engaged Roderich in the only subject in which he seemed remotely verbose: guns and hunting. Specifically, big game hunting. Brought on, no doubt, by Roderich's upcoming trip to Africa in the spring. Sitting between her brother and Roderich, Lili listened with rapt attention to every word her brother said. Roderich was listening too, although his posture was anything but engaged. His back was stiff and straight, his chin pulled back, his face working not to betray his disgust as Vash described the best way to take down a charging lion. His eyes wandered every so often over to Elizaveta, but she would not catch his eye, keeping her attention focused on her plate.

Francis was taking everything in, his eyes alight with silent laughter.

Elizaveta quietly cleared her throat beside Ludwig, getting his attention. "I understand my husband has failed, yet again, to persuade you to join him on his latest assignment."

"Yes," Ludwig murmured. "He still thinks I'm the lost little boy he adopted."

Elizaveta laughed quietly. "I suppose he always will."

"Are you going?" Ludwig asked.

Elizaveta's eyes flicked up, watching Roderich and Vash converse. "No. I don't think I'll be joining him any more." Her eyes returned to her plate.

But there was something there, in her eyes. Ludwig saw it for just a moment before she looked back down. It was a hardness, a resolve, that he had never seen before.

Ludwig knew, as he continued to watch the dinner guests, things between Roderich and Elizaveta could become quite strained at times, but they always seemed to work through it. Most of the time it had to do with Roderich's job – and other times it was because of children. Roderich and Elizaveta never had children. Partly because of Roderich's job and partly because of Ludwig. Roderich expended all of his would-be-parent energy on Ludwig. There was nothing he wouldn't do for Ludwig. To him, Ludwig _was_ _his_ child. But Elizaveta, though she cared deeply for Ludwig, still wanted a child of her own. When Ludwig was old enough to take care of himself, Elizaveta would broach the topic of she and Roderich having children again, but Roderich always shut her down, saying they were too old.

Ludwig wondered, as he eyed the grey hairs coloring his cousin's temple, if Roderich and Elizaveta had had another fight about children. He also wondered if Elizaveta had finally had enough. That look – in her eyes – was the look of determination….

A hand closed over his, breaking him from his reverie. Ludwig looked up and saw Elizaveta giving him a small, sad smile.

"I'm glad you came, Ludwig."

Ludwig returned her smile and then dropped his gaze to his plate.

Elizaveta and Roderich did not speak at all that evening.

As the night drew on and the guests retired to the parlor for coffee and cigarettes, the mood shifted, returning to the tense uncertainty from earlier. Even Francis was wise enough not to make any remarks.

With a meaningful look at Francis, Ludwig made up their excuses and he and Francis left early.

Rather than helping to clear his mind, the dinner had the opposite effect – it gave him more to think about. He felt as if he had plainly seen, for the first time, the people who raised him. And it bothered him.

"I'm sorry, Francis," Ludwig said flatly when they arrived at his door. "You were right. It was terribly boring. We never should have gone."

In the dim streetlight, Ludwig could just make out a faint smile on Francis' lips, though it looked more pained than anything.

"Are you all right, Ludwig?"

"Yeah, I'm….You – you want to come in? For some wine or something?"

"Okay."

They shared two bottles from Ludwig's cellar, drinking it in the courtyard and enjoying the cool autumn night.

Francis yawned, sprawling out on one of the stone benches and lit a cigarette.

"Do you want to stay the night, Francis?" Ludwig asked. His house suddenly felt too large for just one man to occupy. And after watching Roderich and Elizaveta that night, he was feeling strangely alone.

"…Sure," Francis said to the night sky, his speech slowed from the alcohol.

Moments later, Francis' deep, even breathing told Ludwig his friend had passed out. Laughing to himself, Ludwig plucked the cigarette from Francis' fingers and stubbed it out, then flung Francis' arms around his neck and piggy-backed him into the house and up to a guest room, doing his best to tuck him into bed. Francis' deep breathing turned into snores as Ludwig shut the door.

Ludwig was nowhere near tired. He wanted to sleep. He really did. The only problem was, he mind would not shut off.

Ludwig went back downstairs and opened another bottle of wine. He sat in his parlor but soon grew restless. He got up and started pacing. Images from the day raced through his mind – the strange man, Roderich sipping his coffee, Elizaveta's eyes, the _memento mori_….

And suddenly Ludwig knew what he wanted to do.

He gathered up some lanterns, grabbed his wine bottle, and went to his studio. He didn't even know if he would have a block of marble large enough to accommodate the Benefactor's commission. He didn't care. It didn't have to be the Benefactor's piece. Ludwig just needed to hack away at _something_.

But strangely, there was a block of marble big enough. Pushed away almost against the back of his studio and covered in tarpaulins. Ludwig lit the lanterns and flung away the coverings. Grabbing up his mallet and chisel, he set to work.


	3. Chapter 3

Lili stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the studio. It didn't look like the workspace of a well-respected artist. It couldn't belong to Ludwig. No. It just…couldn't. Not the Ludwig Roderich extolled. Not the quiet man she'd met at dinners. Not the Ludwig _she_ knew.

The studio looked like it had been ransacked by a madman. Stools stood on end, overturned in a wide array; tables pushed haphazardly off to the side and out of the way, blocks of wood and ropes and pulleys littered the floor, as well as pieces of marble. And there, in the center of it all, lay a sleeping Ludwig, half covered by a tarpaulin and snoring as he slept, every now and then his breath sending up small clouds of marble dust from the floor. A wine bottle stood near his feet. Ludwig gave a jerk in his sleep. His foot connected with the bottle, sending it clanking noisily away.

Lili started at the sound. And so did Ludwig. With a violent shudder, he sat bolt upright, unfocused eyes blinking in his strange surroundings.

"H-Herr Beilschmidt…?" Lili began tentatively. "Are you – "

But Ludwig suddenly pitched forward, grabbing his head and wincing in pain. It felt like a spike had been driven through his temple. Oh, he was going to _kill_ Francis….

"Herr Beilschmidt! A-are you all right?" Lili gasped, rushing forward to help.

"…Wha–?" Ludwig hiccupped, blinking up at the young girl. " 'M – I'm fine," he said, waving her away.

"What – what were you doing? On the floor?" Lili asked.

"Slept there, I guess," Ludwig grunted, slowing pulling himself to stand on unsteady feet, using a nearby table for support.

Lili was about to ask "Why" when the sharp sound of footsteps behind her made her jump and turn around.

"Well he's not in his room," Roderich said, walking in with a determined air. "And Frau Kost hasn't – oh, for heaven's sake, Ludwig!" he exclaimed, seeing his cousin slumped over a table, rubbing his temples, covered in dust.

Ludwig picked his head up, grinning stupidly at Roderich.

"This is a _fine_ way to receive your guests!" Roderich fumed.

"Didn't know I was havin' any," Ludwig slurred.

"Yes. Well. _If_ your housekeeper had been able to find you, she would have let you know. I sent a message over early this morning. Lili wanted to see your studio. She mentioned so last night, after you had left."

Ludwig shrugged, unperturbed by his cousin's obvious irritation.

"Here it is," Ludwig said. With an inelegant sweep of his arm, he gestured around the studio. His eyes fell, for a moment, on the large block of marble from last night. It surprised him, how much of it he had roughed out last night. He honestly did not remember working that much on it….

"Let's just…go back to the house," Roderich said, head bowed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I've had Frau Kost prepare a midday meal."

Ludwig followed his cousin and Lili back to the house. The blinding afternoon sun spilled across the courtyard, bouncing off the white marble statuary. It only served to amplify the feeling his head had been cleaved in two. Ludwig weaved every now and then, fighting the combined forces of gravity and his unbalanced equilibrium, which threatened to send him crashing back to the ground.

Elizaveta was inside, seated at the dining table and waiting for them to return. When she saw Ludwig stumble in, she quickly covered her mouth with a napkin to hide her laugh.

The dining room had been laid out a bit more formally than yesterday – most likely at Roderich's insistence. A water glass stood beside each place setting. When Ludwig saw this, he lunged for the one nearest him, drinking noisily. His mouth tasted gritty from sleeping on the hard floor, surrounded by marble dust.

Roderich pressed his lips into a thin line, frowning at Ludwig, then at the mess Ludwig had left behind. Powdery white footprints traced his cousin's meandering steps across the hardwood floors. Ludwig fell into a chair and a small cloud of dust erupted around him.

Roderich took his seat at the head of the table and Lili promptly imitated him, sitting opposite Elizaveta.

"What in God's name were you doing out there?" Roderich hissed as Frau Kost began serving lunch.

"Working, I expect," Ludwig said nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair.

"You are not some _heathen_. You have a bed. You do not need to sleep out – "

"Ludwig?"

Lili and Elizaveta looked up and just as quickly looked back down. Lili's ears reddened. Elizaveta stifled another laugh. Francis stood in the doorway, behind Roderich, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes. His lips were stained purple from last night's wine and a quilt was wrapped around his shoulders.

"Thought I heard voices," he said, gazing blearily at everyone.

He came around to sit beside Ludwig.

When Roderich saw Francis, what little color remained in his face drained. Elizaveta's shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Francis looked from Roderich to Elizaveta and then down at himself.

"I'm – I'm not wearing a shirt, am I?" he asked Ludwig vaguely.

Ludwig shook his head, trying not to smile.

"Oh. Okay, then," Francis said. He then began helping himself to a sausage on Ludwig's plate. "When did the party move over here? Was it while I was passed out? And what are you covered in, Ludwig?" Francis said, brushing marble dust out of Ludwig's hair.

"That is enough," Roderich said in a low voice. "Francis – for God's sake – go put some clothes on."

Francis stopped dusting off Ludwig, giving his friend a questioning look. Just how far could he push his limits with Roderich?

The answer: Not far. With a small nod of his head, Ludwig seemed to say _You'd better do as he says_.

Francis complied.

Aside from Francis' missing shirt and Ludwig's hangover, lunch was promising to be as dull as dinner the previous night once everyone was settled and tucked into their plates.

No one spoke – until Lili was brave enough to clear her throat and ask: "…Um, so, Herr Beilschmidt. You said you were – working – last night? What – what were you working on, exactly?"

"New commission," Ludwig said gruffly, slurping a cup of black coffee.

"Oh! That's, um…that's nice," Lili said a little too heartily. "What is it going to be? Do you have any sketches?"

"Nope," Ludwig said baldly. "It's all in here." He pointed to his head.

Lili's eyes widened in awe. "Really?"

Roderich glanced up at his cousin with a long-suffering eye roll. Ludwig returned it cheekily with a wink and a smirk.

"Yes, my cousin's prodigious talent," Roderich said with a mordant laugh, "is taking the marble dust that fills his head and turning it into art."

"Is that jealousy I hear, cousin?"

"No," Roderich said, setting down his knife and fork. "Merely making an observation. Your mental faculties have been wasted."

"Roderich!" Elizaveta gasped.

But Roderich ignored her. "I raised you better than this!" he hissed at Ludwig. "Look at you. You have no respect for anything – not the clothes you wear, the house you own. Not even your family! You embarrass me. The _only_ thing you care about is yourself. And even then, I'm not too sure."

"Roderich, that is enough," Elizaveta cautioned.

Ludwig's expression had gone from one of amusement to absolute disgust with his cousin as he listened to Roderich's tirade.

"You're right, my dear," Roderich said, standing and throwing down his napkin. "I can't stand to look at him anymore. Come Lili, Elizaveta. We're leaving."

Lili hopped up immediately, following Roderich to the door. Elizaveta lingered a moment, a pained look on her face.

"He – he doesn't mean it," she said, going over to Ludwig. "You know how he gets. These moods that come over him." She tried to laugh and smile apologetically. "It's just a fear – of a loss of control. Sometimes I think he feels he needs to control the whole world just to function."

"Don't make excuses for him, Elizaveta," Ludwig said. "I'm not a child anymore."

A sad smile flitted across Elizaveta's face as she bent to kiss Ludwig on the forehead.

"Elizaveta!" Roderich called from the front door.

Elizaveta gave a start. With a small wave, she bid farewell to Ludwig and Francis.

"…Although sometimes I think he's right," Ludwig muttered once the front door had closed.

"Ludwig, don't do this to yourself," Francis said.

"Why not? He's _right_, Francis. I mean, look at this place. Look at me!" Ludwig brushed off his arms, sending plumes of marble powder into the air. "I need a housekeeper to look after me like a baby needs a nanny. I haven't had an actual, honest relationship. Ever. Just a week-long dalliance at most. There is nothing – _nothing_ – that I can say I really care about…."

Francis frowned. "Well. I think Roderich's just trying to make you feel bad. Like there's something wrong with you. But there's not! You're fine the way you are. And you need to not listen to him so much."

Ludwig shrugged. "…I guess."

The clock in the hall struck half past noon. They sat in silence – Francis idly pushing around the remnants of his lunch with a fork and Ludwig going through a mental checklist of the work he still had to complete and trying not to think anymore about what Roderich had said.

Francis left a short while later and Ludwig decided it was time to get to work. His headache had become a dull throb – one that would only worsen with the pounding of a chisel on stone. He went to the medicine cabinet, grabbed a bottle of aspirin, chewed two white tablets, and pocketed the rest, then headed back out to his studio.

He looked around at his half-completed works, deciding where to start first. There was the water nymph centerpiece for the Greek mythology enthusiast's water fountain, the marble relief for the cathedral's new altar, the veiled bust honoring one of his patron's deceased wife, his own piece for the sculptor's guild exhibition, and finally, his newest commission: the fallen soldier _memento mori_.

Ludwig decided to work on the guild exhibition piece, seeing as how it was nearly done and the exhibition was in two weeks. He picked up a rasp to begin working some of the finer details, but, try as he might, he couldn't seem to get started on it. His eyes kept getting drawn to the large slab set to be the Benefactor's war memorial.

Well.

It _could_ stand to be roughed out some more. There was no time frame for it, but…it _was_ such a large piece.

He just needed to make it look more…organic. It was too angular. Too boxy.

Distracting.

That's what it was.

Just need to get the basic curve and shape of the piece and then it would quit bothering him.

Everything else in his studio had graceful, natural form. Except that slab with its hapharzardly hacked off bits. He needed to fix it.

Ludwig put his exhibition piece on a wood dolly and rolled it off to the side.

He would just flesh out the form and shape of the fallen soldier. That was it. Just get the smooth, organic shape and then he could go back to work on his other projects.

Ludwig grabbed a mallet and chisel and set to work.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Herr Beilschmidt."

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Herr Beilschmidt!"

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"HERR BEILSCHMIDT!"

_Tap._ "What _is_ it, Frau Kost!?"

Ludwig heaved a sigh, setting his tools down. Couldn't she see he was busy? Couldn't she see he had just started….

Well. No. That wasn't right….

Ludwig stepped back from his work, brow knitting in surprise. And confusion.

He had roughed out the head and was in the process of defining shape and position to the body. But…he had only just started….

He looked about him. The silhouettes cast by the sculptures in his studio were the long shadows of late afternoon.

Ludwig ran a hand through his hair, blinking distractedly as Frau Kost wheezed up behind him.

"You really should wear something over your nose and mouth, you know," Frau Kost said, coughing and waving away the particles of dust floating in front of her. "I don't know how you don't get sick, breathing this stuff in. It makes my chest hurt, every time I come in here."

"You just need to stop with the cigarettes," Ludwig said, giving his little old housekeeper a smile. "What do you need?"

"I only wanted to tell you, Herr Beilschmidt, that you need to make sure you empty your pockets _before_ I do the wash. Here."

She handed him the notebook and pencil the Benefactor had lent him the other day.

"I very nearly ruined your book."

"…But…that's not – that's not mine," Ludwig said, dumbly taking it.

"So?" the housekeeper huffed. "What do I care whose it is? Just make sure you empty your pockets next time!"

Frau Kost ambled back to the house, muttering something about absent-minded artists under her breath.

What a funny little coincidence, Ludwig thought, to have been working on that strange man's commission and then to have Frau Kost discover his notebook.

Ludwig flipped through it, wondering if he could somehow divine the Benefactor's name – or at least find out a bit more about him.

He saw where he had written his notes regarding the man's sculpture in the back of the book. There were only a few empty pages between. The rest of the book was filled with names. Names that had been crossed out with a single line. There were some spaces that looked like they had contained a name, but the name had been erased. Everything was written in pencil.

Ludwig flipped to the front, expecting to see the man's name penciled in somewhere on the inside front cover.

Nothing.

Only names that weren't his.

Odd.

Then again, Ludwig thought, maybe not. The man had said he was a veteran. Maybe this was some kind of roster.

Still. Kind of a strange thing to carry around, especially from a war forty years ago.

Ludwig shut the book and pocketed it, feeling its weight hit the aspirin bottle next to his leg.

He would give it back to the man next time he saw him. Whenever that was.


	4. Chapter 4

It so happened Ludwig did not have long to wait before seeing the Benefactor again – the man stopped by the following day looking slightly frantic. Rather than let himself be led out to Ludwig's studio by the housekeeper, the elder man simply sidestepped around the waddling Frau Kost and hastened toward the sculptor's workspace, resulting in much shouting from the wheezing housekeeper before she gave up and returned to the house.

Ludwig watched him curiously from his studio window. The man's flyaway white hair sticking up in all directions and his ancient coat flapping about him made him look so utterly ridiculous, Ludwig wondered if this could be the same man from two days ago.

"My dear Herr Beilschmidt!" the man called. "So sorry to disturb you, but I seem to have misplaced something. I was just wondering if it could be here?"

Ludwig's brow furrowed as the man drew level. Surely this couldn't be the nameless Benefactor. He must have been mistaken, for Ludwig could have sworn the Benefactor was balding, and this man had a full head of white hair. But the coat…the coat had to be the same one….

"I-I'm sorry," Ludwig stammered, wiping his hands on his apron, "remind me who you are again?"

"My name is unimportant," the man answered.

Ludwig swallowed. So it _was_ the same man. But he could have _sworn_ the man had less hair last time. But, he reminded himself, when he first met the Benefactor, it was in rapidly failing daylight. Yes, that was it. It was poor lighting…that was all. Contenting himself with that thought, Ludwig pushed away his doubts and shook the stranger's hand.

"…Right," Ludwig said somewhat vaguely. "Right. I remember you now. The fallen soldier. Would you like to see it? Granted, there's not much to see. Yet."

"So you – you _have_ started work on it? Already? Oh my. I had wondered…but never mind. Let us see it, then."

"Of course," Ludwig said, and he removed the cloth covering the piece.

The overall shape had been roughed out, and there were areas where Ludwig began to work in detail – the bend of a leg, the beginnings of a hand splayed on the ground.

The Benefactor walked over, his hand lightly tracing over the marble. "My word, you _do_ work fast, don't you Herr Beilschmidt?"

"Well truthfully, it's the only piece I seem to have done anything with."

The Benefactor rounded on Ludwig, eyes growing wide.

"I-is there something wrong?" Ludwig asked.

"My dear boy," the Benefactor said, slowly advancing towards Ludwig, "do not rush this! I told you…take as long as you need."

"I know. It's just…I can't seem to – to focus on anything else."

The Benefactor squinted up at Ludwig. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Two days," Ludwig said, blinking away from the man's penetrating gaze.

"Herr Beilschmidt, I beg you – as your employer – please, _please_ work on something else. This sculpture is important to me. I don't want you rushing to finish it, and I don't want you to ruin yourself in the process. As I said before, you can years to complete it, if you must. I want you to cover it and put it out of your mind. Work on it only when you are able, understand?"

Ludwig nodded.

"Good. Now, about my missing book – "

"You mean this one?" Ludwig said, pulling the notebook from his apron pocket.

The Benefactor let out a relieved breath. "Yes. That one. I can't believe I was so stupid. The damage this could have caused…."

Uncertainty etched Ludwig's brow as he watched the man take the book and hold it as though it were sacred.

"You didn't look in it, did you?" the man asked sharply.

"Only to see if your address was in there. S-so I could return it," Ludwig stammered, caught off guard by the man's sudden change of tone.

Tension returned briefly to the Benefactor's face. He eyed Ludwig with a look the other couldn't quite place. A hungry, hunting look – like a cat readying to pounce on a mouse.

"W-what is it? Some kind of…army roster?" Ludwig said.

The Benefactor's face relaxed as he pressed the book to his chest. The strange look in his eyes vanished.

"Something like that," he said quietly.

The Benefactor tucked the notebook away in an inside pocket and extended his hand. Ludwig grasped it.

"Thank you, Herr Beilschmidt, for keeping my notebook safe. I hope it didn't burden you too much. You should, undoubtedly, find it easier to finish your other commissions before working any more on mine. Remember what I said and take your time. Good day."

Ludwig stared after the strange man, watching him make his way out of the garden, and wondering what – if any – meaning the Benefactor's parting words held.

He did as the Benefactor asked and covered the shapeless marble with a tarpaulin and set to work on his other pieces.

Ludwig found it admittedly easier to concentrate without that large slab of stone catching his eye every second. The form and idea of the fallen soldier were still in his mind, though, pushed to the very back of his consciousness. But it was still there. Like an insect bite: ignorable until prodded – only then did it start to itch.

Ludwig focused his attention on completing his guild's exhibition piece, not wanting to scratch at that itch just yet. And his piece was certainly the most talked about at the guild's opening night reception. He had carved a statue of a young maid carrying a basketful of flowers – a representation of Spring. She stood on one foot, on tip-toe like a ballerina, almost pirouetting off her dais. Her dress, caught in a breeze, pulled around her, showing off her form as flower petals spilled from her basket.

For two weeks, Ludwig had done nothing but work and re-work the statue. It was perhaps one of the smallest things he'd ever carved – standing just over a foot tall – but the detail had been exquisitely wrought. Ludwig worked the marble thinner and thinner along the girl's flowing dress until it became translucent.

The members and patrons of his guild marveled at his skill, daring to approach the taciturn blonde and shake his hand in congratulations.

Ludwig received them well, nodding his thanks. But as the night wore on, their words of praise became nothing more than a dull buzzing between his ears. His genial smiles became grimaces. His hands felt empty. He shoved them in his pockets to stop their reflexive clenching. He needed work. The spot in the back of his mind was starting to itch.

Ludwig knew how thankless – and perhaps somewhat crazed – he must look. It was time to excuse himself. It would be impolite not to. He had his cousin to thank for that. Manners. One thing Roderich prided above all else. And it would not do for Cousin Roderich to hear what a boorish, narcissistic artist Ludwig had become. He'd already had his verbal lashing for the month and did not wish to suffer another.

Ludwig made his excuses to the other guild members and left for home, his mind prickling at the thought of his cousin. He had not spoken to Roderich since the fiasco at luncheon two weeks ago. He still wasn't ready to forgive his cousin for all that was said – regardless of whether or not Roderich had been right to say it.

Ludwig cursed himself for even thinking Roderich had been right. He was twenty-five, successful in his career, and quite capable of making his own decisions. Oh he couldn't _wait_ for his cousin to go to Africa. Two years without Roderich. It would be a freedom Ludwig never knew. Francis had been right – there was nothing wrong with him. He didn't need Roderich's derision….

Ludwig's aggravation grew with each step so that by the time he reached home, his mind was too riled to sleep. Instead, he dealt with his anger at his cousin the only way he knew how.

He gathered all the oil lamps he could carry out to his studio and began working, his hands shaking with barely suppressed rage as he picked up chisel and mallet.

Ludwig started on the altarpiece for the cathedral, the itch in the back of his mind forgotten, as he gouged away chunks of marble.

.

.

.

Days passed. The weather turned chillier as autumn winds shook the leaves from their trees. The altarpiece neared completion.

And Roderich came to call one afternoon in October.

It had been a month since last they spoke, and Ludwig was none too eager to change that.

"What do you want?" he growled, espying his cousin framed in his studio door.

"I understand your latest exhibition was rather impressive," Roderich said, choosing to ignore the rude reception. "Congratulations. I only wish I had been there to see it."

Ludwig eyed his cousin a moment. The ever-present newspaper was tucked under one of Roderich's arms while the other leaned on a walking stick.

"If I had wanted you there, you would have been," Ludwig said, returning to his work.

Roderich pressed his lips into a thin line but did not rise to Ludwig's impudence. Instead, he cleared his throat and took a step towards his cousin.

"When was the last time you held a public reception?" Roderich asked.

"…Why?" Ludwig said, suddenly wary. It was unlike his cousin to willingly discuss his work.

"Just…humor me," Roderich said, doing his best to mask his exasperation.

Ludwig shrugged. "Last spring, I think."

Roderich nodded. "Would you be amenable to having one in, say, December? For the holidays, you know."

Ludwig stopped working, slowly turning to face his cousin. "_Why?_" he asked, his voice deadly calm. "What are you scheming now, Roderich?"

Roderich blinked, affronted. "There's no need for suspicion young man, I assure you."

"Oh, no. Of course not," Ludwig scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. "I only have four commissions to finish and now you want to dump a public showing of my studio on top of that. I have nothing prepared for an opening – all of my personal works are half finished! – and you want me to…you _expect_ me to – to drop everything and – "

"It's for Elizaveta," Roderich said quietly.

Ludwig's demeanor immediately softened hearing her name. "…W-what?"

"I'm asking this for Elizaveta," Roderich said, eyes flitting to the ground. "She's…been restless for quite some time, and…I'm hoping it will help take her mind off of…things. She would organize the whole thing, so you needn't worry. Please...this is – it's important. I only need your consent. She – she always was so…supportive…of you," Roderich added with a slight edge to his voice.

Ludwig swallowed. It seemed his cousin's marriage was only growing more tenuous. But Roderich had a point: Elizaveta had backed Ludwig ever since he began his apprenticeship – and for her, he would do anything.

"…Yeah," Ludwig breathed. "Okay. Sure. I'll – I'll try and finish whatever I can," Ludwig said, running a hand distractedly through his hair while taking a quick, visual appraisal of all the half-done sculptures littering his studio.

A small smile fluttered across Roderich's usually impassive face. "Thank you, cousin. It most certainly shall be an event."

.

.

.

As the weather grew colder, and December drew nearer, Ludwig worked tirelessly to finish his commissions, which meant turning Francis away whenever he showed up, wanting to go drinking. Ludwig hated it – and Francis always left with a pout – but he had to ready himself for his holiday art reception. The altarpiece had been completed shortly after Roderich's visit, leaving the fountain nymph and the bust. The Benefactor's statue could, of course, wait.

Ludwig finished the fountain piece and the bust in November, leaving him just three weeks to work on his pieces for the upcoming showing. But Ludwig did not mind the tight deadline. He found working with such close time restraints helped him focus more – and helped keep the itch in the back of his head at bay.

.

.

.

A few days before the showing, Elizaveta came over to start readying Ludwig's courtyard for the reception. There were to be metal bonfire brackets staked around the courtyard to keep the guests warm and provide much needed light as evening shifted to night. A small buffet and bar were set up in a corner closest to the house and tables and chairs were arranged in the center of the yard.

"I'm so proud of you for doing this," Elizaveta said. She placed a gentle kiss on Ludwig's cheek as they watched the final preparations the night before the opening.

Ludwig shrugged a shoulder. Not like he hadn't held public showings before. Still…. "Roderich said it was important to you."

Elizaveta looked up at him, her brow wrinkling. "I think it's more important to _him_, actually."

"I doubt that," Ludwig scoffed. And before Elizaveta could say any more, Ludwig excused himself to finish cleaning up his studio for tomorrow's reception.

It snowed that night. The courtyard looked like an iced cake the following morning, the statues were sugar sculptures winking in the pale winter sun. Ludwig and his housekeeper bustled around, clearing snow from the tables and chairs. Elizaveta arrived that afternoon with some workmen to clear the courtyard's main dining area of snow.

Work continued right up until the first guests were due to arrive.

It was with a jolt of panic that Ludwig looked at his watch and realized he should have changed his clothes for the opening fifteen minutes ago. He dashed inside, scrabbling around his wardrobe for his best suit, and hurriedly threw it on.

He was still trying to tie his tie with nervous hands as he descended the stairs. A familiar face smirked up at him.

"Thank God you're here," Ludwig moaned.

"You sound like you didn't think I'd show," Francis said, lightly smacking Ludwig's fumbling fingers away from the tie and proceeding to fix the knot for him.

"I just know how you are," Ludwig said with a small smile. "Thank you," he added when Francis had finished.

"No problem. So can we have that drink now? You've been putting me off for a month."

Ludwig laughed and nodded, leading the way out to the courtyard.

The courtyard soon began to fill as more and more guests arrived. Some Ludwig didn't recognize – and others, he did. Some of the guild members were there, as were some of his most devoted patrons. Ludwig scanned the crowd, looking for his cousin, but there was no sign of Roderich yet. Elizaveta flitted easily around the crowd, her tinkling laugh rising above the dull chatter. Francis left to peruse the buffet, and Ludwig meandered through the crowd, smiling and nodding his greeting. Some offered words of congratulations, to which Ludwig dutifully replied "Thank you." But he couldn't help noticing, as he moved through the yard, no one seemed to be paying any attention to his sculptures – and his studio stood empty. It was certainly strange for an art showing (and Ludwig would be lying if he said it didn't hurt his ego, just a little, to have his work so blatantly ignored). Frowning slightly, he went to go find Francis. He was stopped, however, by a rough hand grabbing his arm. Ludwig spun around, ready to confront the impertinent stranger.

But it was no stranger.

It was Roderich's friend, Vash. His little sister Lili by his side as always. But something was different about her. She looked uncharacteristically miserable, her eyes cast down and her hands held, folded stiffly, in front of her.

"Congratulations," Vash ground out.

Was it the flickering bonfire light, or did Vash's face look more murderous than usual?

Ludwig regarded him with uncertainty for a moment before stammering out a "Thank you."

Vash grunted in return and then stalked off, his sister trailing behind him.

Ludwig watched them go, confusion knitting his brow. He turned to find Francis, but something else caught his eye.

There was someone in his studio.

Ludwig hastened over, recognizing the coat.

"I see you took my advice, Herr Beilschmidt," the Benefactor said, gazing pleasantly around the newly completed works, as Ludwig entered.

"Didn't have much of a choice," Ludwig muttered. "This whole thing was rather impromptu. What are you doing here, anyway? Surely my cousin – "

"I have ears everywhere. These are quite marvelous," the man said, nodding at the new pieces.

"Thanks," Ludwig said. "You seem to be the only one here who appreciates them. Even my own patrons and guild…."

Ludwig let the rest of his thought trail away as a look of dawning comprehension spread across his face. Roderich's absence, Elizaveta's words, Lili, Vash, his ignored sculptures. It was all tied together. It all made sense. It all meant one thing….

"They're not here for an art show," Ludwig said as a coldness spread through his limbs that had nothing to do with the weather. _Oh what had Roderich done?_

"I'm afraid not," the Benefactor said with a knowing smirk.

"_How_ did you – "

"Herr Beilschmidt," the Benefactor said, speaking across Ludwig, "I'm afraid tonight you will be faced with a choice. I can only advise you – choose well. You're a charming young man, so please don't take offense when I say I hope I won't be seeing you any time soon – not until it's time for my sculpture to be complete. Good night."

With the swish of a coattail, the Benefactor swept from the studio and disappeared amongst the crowd.

Ludwig ran out after him, nearly knocking over Francis as he did so.

"Francis! Oh I'm sorry! But have you seen – " Ludwig spluttered, trying to see around his friend.

"Ludwig!" Francis gasped, grabbing his arms. "Ludwig…tell me you're not – I only just found out from Elizaveta – "

"Found out what?" Ludwig snapped, still scanning the crowd.

Francis' mouth moved but no sound came out. He was saved further explanation by a reedy voice calling out over the crowd: "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?"

Ludwig jerked his head up. He knew that voice.

It was Roderich.

His cousin stood at the top of the courtyard stairs, wine glass held in one hand, waiting for the gathered crowd to hush.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I do beg your forgiveness for the short notice," Roderich continued, "but I want to thank you all for coming! And it is with great pleasure my wife and I – " Roderich raised his wine glass, nodding down at Elizaveta, standing at the front of the crowd – "announce the engagement of my cousin, Ludwig Beilschmidt – whom you all know is like a son to me – to Fräulein Lili Zwingli, sister of decorated Army captain, Vash Zwingli!"

Ludwig blinked, quite certain the ground was falling out from under him as a booming applause broke out from the gathered guests.

The applause died down and Roderich was saying something in the background, though Ludwig could not hear what over the loud, fast rushing sound between his ears.

Had he…had he heard his cousin right? He was to be…married?

This whole thing had been a set up. One of Roderich's grandest schemes. And _he_ had fallen for it….

Ludwig fought the urge not to be sick – fought the urge to stay upright as the courtyard suddenly lurched violently forward.

He stumbled.

An arm shot out to steady him.

Francis.

Ludwig gripped his friend's arm is if he were drowning. Panic widened his brilliant blue eyes as he searched Francis' for answers, but there were none there.

The world crashed back down around him – and it laughed at him. Ludwig looked around, his face ashen, at each stupidly grinning, giggling face in the crowd.

"…Yes, he's always been a shy boy," Roderich's voice cut in above the laughing guests. "Come and join us up here, Ludwig."

Far away – miles and miles and miles away – Ludwig glimpsed his cousin standing on the courtyard steps, Elizaveta at his side, and Vash and Lili standing beneath them.

Ludwig stumbled forward, trying to maintain balance on wobbly legs.

The closer he got, though, to the party gathered on the stairs, the surer his footfalls became. The initial shock had worn off. Ludwig was able to focus much more clearly. He had eyes only for his cousin – and those eyes were growing more lethal with each step.

"I would like a word with you, _cousin_," Ludwig rumbled, his voice low and deadly, as he drew level with Roderich, "once this charade is over. _In. Private._"

.

.

.

* * *

_**A/N: **Sorry for the delay! Writer's block sucks. But, anyway...Prussia should hopefully make his first appearance next chapter! And that's all I'm gonna say about it :) Thank you guys for reading/reviewing - I love you all and mean it XD_


End file.
